


Spark from the Pit

by LordGrimwing



Series: Primling Grove [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Horror, Night Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-12 21:48:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7950379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LordGrimwing/pseuds/LordGrimwing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a bunch of friends getting together to play night games in the park.</p><p>What could happen?</p><p>Alternate title: I Hate Night Games.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spark from the Pit

**Author's Note:**

> Why did I write this? Well, to be truthful, I hate night games. They scare me so bad, and I'm always paranoid that something like this could happen. Also, I've been playing Ghost in the Graveyard with my sister, friend, and her little siblings. Then, last night, while we were playing, my sister and friend said I should write a transformers story based off of a night game that goes horribly wrong.
> 
> Here's a link to the song that also helped to inspire this~ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HDd2Rd8imak  
> Um, yeah. I wrote the whole thing in about three hours.
> 
>  
> 
> Well, I've removed Jazz from this story because I want to use him in the last one.  
> Please comment and tell me what you think.

“I hate night games.” The short tan youngling complained, lower lip sticking out in a pout. He and his friends, and friends of friends, were all packed inside the gardener’s shed at the neighborhood park, Primling Grove.

“But everyone else wants to play them.” A pink femme spoke of from the edge of the group of younglings.

“They give me nightmare.” The first insisted.

“Sweet dreams are over rated.” The latter shot back.

“What should we play?” Sideswipe, the hyperactive twin, asked as he bounced up and down on the tips of his peds.

“Oh, ah know, ah know.” That was Hot Rod, his family moved into the area not too long ago, and he was already becoming best friends with almost everyone he meet. “Let’s play Spark from the Smelter!”

“What’s that?” That was said by a thick red mechling. Despite Inferno being one of the oldest there, he never ever suggested what he wanted to play, he just did whatever the younger ones wanted.

“It’s a game ah used to play in ’hex. One of us get’ to be the spark from the smelter an’ hide out in ‘e park somewhere, while the rest of us do this chant an’ then go lookin’ for the Spark from ‘e Smelter. When one of us find ‘im, then they yell ‘Spark from ‘e Smelter’ as loud as ‘ecan, an’ we all come running back in here. But if the spark catches one of us ‘fore they get inside, then it’s their turn to be ‘e spark. Then we play again!” Hot Rod slapped his little hands together at the excited looks on almost everyone’s faces.

“Sounds scary.” Red Alert whispered as he latched on to Inferno’s arm, pail optics wide. His older brother gave him a reassuring pat on the back.

“I still don’t like night games.” The tan one reiterated.

“Oh shut up!” A voice called out from the crowd of youngling packed inside the little building.

“Hey, be nice.” Inferno called out to whom ever had spoken.

“So, who wants to be ‘e spark first?” Hot Rod asked.

“Ooo, pick me.” Sideswipe jumped up and down, waving an arm as high into the air as he could reach. “Pick me-me-me-me-me!”

“Let’s start then.” Sunstreaker said from his twin’s side.

“This is going to be so much fun! I just can’t believe our parents are letting us stay out so late to play with everyone. I know we all live really close by but it’s still really cool.” Little Bluestreak squealed from his spot next to his brother Smokescreen as Sideswipe made his way out through the door. Their eldest brother Prowl hadn’t come with them tonight because he wasn’t feeling well.

“Okay, so here’s what we say.” After Hot Rod went over the words, all the younglings, excluding the tan one who was sulking in a corner, began to chant.

“One-o’-clock, two-o’-clock, three-o’-clock, jump. Four-o’-clock, five-o’-clock, six-o’-clock, jump. Seven-o’-clock, eight-o’-clock, nine-o’-clock, jump. Ten-o’-clock, eleven-o’-clock… morning. One-o’-clock, two-o’-clock, three-o’-clock, jump. Four-o’-clock, five-o’-clock, six-o’-clock, jump. Seven-o’-clock, eight-o’-clock, nine-o’-clock, jump. Ten-o’-clock, eleven-o’-clock… Mid~night!”  

The younglings began running out of the shed, looking every which way for ‘the sprak.’

“Hey!” The tan one shouted. “Don’t leave me here alone!” He ran out after the rest.

Suddenly, a cry. “Spark from the Smelter!”

Screaming, the youngsters fled back to the shed.

“Ha!” Sideswipe laughed as he slipped in. “I got someone!”

“Who? Who?”

“I think it was Red Ale-” the twin halted his words as a flash of blue light momentarily lit the room. “Never mind. I now think it wasMoonracer.” Since the femme didn’t speak up for herself, it was assumed this was right.

“Alright! Let’s start the chant.” Sunstreaker suggested, that was the funnest part to him.

“One-o’-clock, two-o’-clock, three-o’-clock, jump. Four-o’-clock, five-o’-clock, six-o’-clock, jump.”

The game went on for a long time, with someone being caught almost every time. It was great fun and the only one there who wasn’t happy with Hot Rod’s suggestion was the tan mechling.

The night was getting darker and stars began twinkling as Arcee made her way back to the shed after someone screamed “Spark from the Smelter!” for what seemed like the hundredth time. Soon after she made it safely in, it was decided that Inferno had been caught byBluestreak—mainly because the youngling couldn’t stop laughing about how funny it was that he’d been able to catch someone so much older than himself. Looking around, she suddenly had a thought. “So,” she started, “is Red Alert play as a spark with Inferno, or is he still out there?”

“I bet he’s with Inferno.” Smokescreen nodded sagely. “I saw them running together.”

The chanting started again, quieter than when they’d started, but still fairly loud.

This time, it was then tan youngling that got caught by Inferno as he tried scrambling back to the shed. He now stood at the outside of the door, begging for the others to let him in.

“Please! I don’t even want to play! Let me in.” He wined.

“Go and hide.” Smokescreen advised.

“No!”

“Uhg, we can’t keep playing unless you hide Fulcrum. Get a move on it!” That was Sunstreaker. “Quit being such a sparkling.”

With a sniffle, Fulcrum walked away from the door, looking for a hiding spot that wasn’t too far away.

It wasn’t long before the younglings started spilling out. Fulcrum could see them from his hiding spot. Funnily enough, it seemed to be taking less and less time for the last player to get out and start running around. Interesting.

A shout. “Spark from the Smelter!”

Fulcrum looked up, he hadn’t thought he’d been seen yet! Now his chance to get back into the shed was slipping away as younglings began running back to safely. But, none of them ran from where he was. In fact, no one was even near his spot. The cry came from the other side of the shed.

Before Fulcrum could decide if someone was cheating, he saw the last player sprinting toward safety. Bluestreak had short legs. He couldn’t run very fast—thus his joy at catching Inferno. Fulcrum was about ready to leap from his hideaway and tag the younger mechling when he saw something else.

A shadow followed the little winged youngling. The living shadow chased him past Fulcrum. The tan youngling was too scared to scream as the shadow reached Bluestreak, snatched him up, faded back into the dark of night.

Then, within minutes, Fulcrum heard the other younglings come running out again, their chant still fresh on their little lips. Terrified out of thought, Fulcrum lay in his same hiding spot as Arcee called “Spark from the Smelter!” This time though, as they younglings fled back into ‘safety’ he didn’t see anything odd.

Had he just imagined the Shadow creature? His creators told him that monsters weren’t real. They wouldn’t have lied to him. Right?

“Red Alert?!” As it turned out, not everyone ran back into the shed this time. Inferno stood in the open area before the building, head twisting around as he called for his little brother. “Red Alert, where are you?!”

The shadow struck. A slash of blue. Silence.

This time, as the others ran out again, Fulcrum started to scream, and the shadow didn’t wait in-between strikes. Other screams joined Fulcrum’s. Then, his was all alone. And when he saw the shadow creature coming for him, he ran.

He ran and he didn’t know where he was running. All that mattered was that he got away from the monster. Fulcrum soon found himself under a light pull—he didn’t think shadow creatures could get into the light—near the cannel that ran through the neighborhood. Panting, he looked back the way he came and froze.

There the monster stood, fully illuminated by the light. It was stall and thin, thinner than Fulcrum thought anyone could be. It didn’t have fingers, rather long, thin, claws that curled and twisted at the end of its hands. Light reflected off its yellow visor, giving the horn like frills on its helm a terrifying hue. The orange and white creature stepped forward, claws reaching out for the frozen youngling.

  
  
  


The grey room was sterile, its silence interrupted only by the sounds of a mech slowly walking around as he put stools into an autoclave for cleaning, then headed back to the wheeled berth under the bright examination light. Another, slenderer mech sat on a stool next to the berth. With a sigh, the former looked down at what lay under the partly folded sheet. It was so sad really, that this happened.

The ghost of a sound caused the red and white mech to look up and toward the door that lead into his work room.

“No one’s there.” He companion’s said calmly from his seat, rising to lay a reassuring hand on the others shoulder. “You’re paranoid.”

“I can’t help it.”

“No need to give yourself a scare Ambulon. It’s just a trick of your own mind.” The orange, red and white mech said, grabbing one  
side of the sheet as the examiner slowly began to raise it up and over the still frame that lay between them.

“So I’ve been told.” He looked down sadly at the tan face before it was covered. “But seeing a youngling like this—even if it was an accident—brings back memories.” Ambulon tied the free corners of the cloth to the berth legs. “I don’t envy your job Tumbler.”

The other mech stared down at the covered frame of the youngling, his needles reflexively shot out and retracted from his fingertips. “He probably just fell in and drowned on his own. I doubt there was foul play was involved at all.” Tumbler reached up, turning off the light for Ambulon. “I’d rather have a good rest tonight, so I’ll check in the morning.”

The examiner and mnemosurgeon walked out of the room, now lit only by the secondary lights. “I know I won’t be able to recharge peacefully until I know.” Ambulon locked the door behind them.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Tumbler laid a thin hand over Ambulons, his yellow visor glowing softly.

“No need for the platitude.” The red and white mech opened the doors out of the mechaforensics building. “Sweet dreams.” He murmured to his friend as the parted ways at the street.

“Sweet dreams are overrated.” Tumbler replied, then the thin mech transformed and drove back toward his home near Primling Grove.

Ambulon began the walk back to his apartment.

Fulcrum lay alone under a sheet.


End file.
